


The Grey Area

by GlorifiedFanfiction



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Deserves Better, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, credence is maturing and being confident and it makes me happy, graves needs emotional support, graves really needs a hug, jacob is confused and thinks credence is adopted, jacobs pastries make credence happy bless, newt and tina are caring parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlorifiedFanfiction/pseuds/GlorifiedFanfiction
Summary: Graves is left confused and guilty after having his identity stolen, but believes that Credence needs comfort. Credence, settling into his new life with a loving family, has been left shaken but stronger- and realises that Graves is the one in need of reassurance. Both struggle with figuring out who they really are to themselves, and to each other.





	1. Proud of Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, every time there’s a line break/horizontal line it means there’s a change of POV. First bit is in Credence’ POV, and it swaps back and forth between them throughout the chapter. Hopefully I’ve written this clear enough for yall to distinguish between their “voices”. Enjoy!

 

“I am never,” He presses a pair of lips to the scars on my hand.

“ever,” He nips and pecks along my fingers.

“letting anyone lay a hand on you again.” But his gaze is unfocused.

His chest is heavy with the weight of baited breath and withheld words. I let him say his sweet nothings. Maybe then, he’ll feel lighter. Maybe light enough to float away. I don’t know if I can look him in the eye. I don’t want to try.

 

* * *

 

My hand comes up to caress his jaw. Every move I make is deliberate- with intention. What intention exactly- I can’t be sure of yet. I just need to let him know that I’m not being used. _He’s_ not being used. He has to know.

I run the pad of my thumb over his chapped lip. He’s bitten it raw.

“You need to know.”

He might never know. How can I show him?

 

* * *

 

At the first touch of his hand on my cheek, I tense up. My jaw clamps shut like a bear trap. He doesn’t flinch. His hold just firms.

I could never look Grindelwald in the eye. I think I’d know what he’d see. I wouldn’t just be some frail boy in need of protection- I’d suddenly be his most powerful weapon. I’d be someone to use, and then discard. My shoulders would grow heavy with the knowledge that I was still the same pathetic mess when I’d met him- too weak to fight back. They would grow heavy with the lives I took. With the graves to fill.

“Graves.” I say. I let his eyes meet mine.

 _Graves_. He’d been used too. No- he’d been _violated_.

A high-ranking official like that- he’s used to being in control. Never stooping so low as to exploit someones' weakness. Never needing to. He has all the power and influence in the world. “ _The law is the law, and the law should have no blurred lines. No grey area.”_ I want to hear him say. I want him to be sure about just one thing, like he used to be.

Everything's different. His hold isn't firm, it's tense. His gaze isn't just unfocused, it's fleeting. He's stuck in flight-or-fight mode, and I don't know how long I can handle seeing him like this. But I’m stuttering and weak and his fingers won’t stop touching.

“Mr. Graves, I have to leave. You know I c-“

“You can’t be seen with me.” His expression is pained.

“No, I just…can’t leave for too long.”

I don’t know why I’m defending him. He isn’t wrong when he says I can’t be seen with him. He’s still under investigation. He should be the last person I want to see.

It’s been months since anyone- with the exception of Tina and a few trusted friends of hers- have seen me. There were no remains, but I’m as good as dead to the Wizarding world. She’s been keeping a watchful eye out for me over the past few months, just until Newt comes back. She says she’s sent him letters about me so he doesn’t get a fright when he comes back, but I don’t think he’ll be surprised. I think he knew I was alive the whole time.

Tina and her friends make me feel. I feel something other than numb, and pain, and fear. I hope when Newt comes back, he can explain what I’m feeling.

“I should go.” I say. His nostrils flair. I suck down a shaky breath of air. _I’m safe_. I try again.

“Mr. Graves, _I would like to go_.” His hand drops from my jaw to my shoulder. _I’ve said something wrong._ Bubbles of anxiety pop in my veins and my whole body quivers with the force of a thousand heart attacks.

Instead, he looks…proud?

He looks proud. He squares his jaw and gives my shoulder a heavy pat. _He’s proud of me._

“I’ll contact Tina in a few weeks to schedule a meeting. _If you would like to go_ -“ He imitates. “- then you are free to do so. If you don’t think this is helping, I won’t force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with” He trails off at the end.

_It’s too late for that, isn’t it, Mr. Graves?_


	2. Strudel for the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credence's POV

 

I’m at Tina’s house. Her apartment. I’m standing outside her door, expecting an invisible barrier to have been set up to keep me out. In a way, there is a barrier.

When I used to hand out leaflets on the street, I would sometimes let myself indulge in my own imagination. I would sometimes gaze at doors and imagine what it would be like to live in a home. I’d imagine a crackling fire, glazing aged walls with its yellow warmth. Rosy cheeks, stuffed with steaming green vegetables and gravy. Imagination isn’t nearly enough to warm a cold boy on a cold street with nothing but muted greys and muddy browns for company, of course.

But that was how I lived, until one day, Tina opened the doors of her humble home up to a stranger. One day, I didn’t have to imagine a time where I would come home to warmth and colour and fullness- and not a beating. Tina opened her doors, her arms, and along with it- a heart.

The apartment door swings open, and Queenies’ pleasant voice swells from the kitchen into the living room.

“Come in and sit down sweetie.” She hums, so I do. She’s always been the voice of reassurance.

“Tina’ll be a tad late for dinner, but I’m makin’ your favourite. Ain’t it lucky that you and Jacob both love strudel- I don’t know if I could pick between my two favourite boys.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Oh! And both of you are starving. This’ll be a treat.”

For several months, Queenies voice haunted my dreams. The sweet buttery tones that I’ve become so familiar with could never frighten me- but in my nightmares, I’d hear distant screams torn from her throat- for reasons that could make me nauseous just contemplating. Then, I’d awake from my nightmare only to have the real Queenie set down a cup of hot cocoa on the bedside table and slide under the sheets to cradle me like a child. “Settle down dearie. I’m a tough cookie, and so are you. Tougher than my nans’ scones, me and you.” And she’d make me feel as if I hadn’t woken from a nightmare, but slipped into a dream.

The next morning, a cold cup of cocoa and a warm body beside me would be proof that it wasn’t in my head. It wasn’t uncommon for Jacob to walk in on the awkwardly intimate scene, only for him to offer me a plate of assorted pastries. And Oh Lord are his pastries heavenly. As warm and comforting as Queenie. I suppose that’s where he gets his inspiration from.

One day, the barrier I've put up between them and myself won't exist, and I'll open my heart up to these people. Its the least I owe them. 


	3. The Boy in a Man's Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Tina's POV

I get home, exhausted from work. All that time sitting in front of a desk- shifting paper- has left me a little rusty, but being an Auror is my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

A pleasantly sweet scent seeps through the crevices of the door and I’m embarrassed to admit that I fumbled for my keys in an effort to get in faster. Also, because Mrs Esposito has a terrible habit of screeching questions at me from upstairs.

Jacob, like an expectant puppy waiting for a bone, is already sitting dutifully at the dinner table. Credence jolts awake from his daydream. A shy, abashed smile tugs at the corners of his lips at being caught off guard.

The first time he had tried to smile, his face looked like it could’ve cracked. Now it’s beginning to fit on his face a little better. He still has trouble with physical contact and looking people in the eye, but he’s ceased to be the jittery boy that flinches when his name is called. Those were a rough few weeks for all of us, especially with Newt and Jacobs absence.

Credence gets up and ushers me to the table, where plates- loaded with an array of dishes -emit the most wonderful aroma. A perk of regaining my Auror title is how well the job pays. Even with two extra mouths to feed, we’ve been eating like royalty. I’ve even started saving up. I’ve actually been thinking about moving out and buying a proper house a lot lately, but this has been my home for so long- and with everything that’s going on it seems like a ridiculous thing to worry about…

…And even with everything that’s going on, Credences’ expression still makes me smile fondly. You can’t tell at first, but it’s clear in his eyes- the way they light up with the innocent wonder of a child. I then remember that he’s never had the chance to be a child. He’s never been someone’s _child_. No one’s _precious little boy_. No one’s _poppet._ My smile is fond, but now it’s laced with sadness at the boy in a man’s body.

I’m staring off into space when a ladle nudges me in the shoulder.

“Tina, surely you’re old enough to serve yourself. _We can’t stay children forever_.” Queenie interrupts my train of thought. My train of thought probably interrupted her. I recall that she can’t control what she hears, and that particularly loud thoughts can overshadow her own. But as guilty as I feel for making Queenie worry- I can’t help but be frustrated at the lack of privacy.  

Jacob is helping himself to a serving of slightly charred honey-glazed carrots across the table, distracting Queenie with what I assume are thoughts of admiration and flattery. The scene is rather charming.

Ever since he became a regular guest at our meals, Queenie’s been cooking things the old-fashioned way. Even without the aid of magic she’s a marvellous cook, but it has resulted in a few mishaps where she’s become too enamoured with Jacob to pay attention to her food.

Regardless of the MACUSA laws she may-or-may-not be breaking, I think it’s quite sweet. I also think she hasn’t been using magic around the house to avoid making Credence feel bad.

Credence refuses to discuss magic- let alone attempt it. He didn’t carry a wand with him, so he either never got his, or it’s missing. If he did have it with him when he was with the Second Salemers, I can’t imagine what they would’ve done to him if they’d found it. They probably would’ve killed him. I wouldn’t put it beneath them and that vindictive monster they call his mother.

I couldn’t imagine living without magic- knowing I had control over such power the way Credence does. I couldn’t imagine teaching him either. I’m not mentor material. Newt is, though. For someone as soft-spoken and mellow as he is, I’ve never seen anyone handle themself quite the way Newt does- regardless of whether he’s in the presence of a mating Erumpent, or in a room full of the most powerful and influential witches and wizards in the world. 

I’m sure he’d know how to teach him, but he’s not here. I’m here though, and so is Queenie and Jacob. And I know how to make his smile reach his eyes, just like Queenie knows how to steady his shaking hands and Jacob knows that his favourite pastries are the peach custard ones shaped like Billywigs.

I still can't help but worry.


End file.
